


A Friendship in Five Parts

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcoholism, Gen, Homophobia, Multi, mlm/wlw solidarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-30 04:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana
Summary: A few drabbles/ficlets around the (somewhat unlikely) friendship between Nyssa and Dorian.





	1. I. The Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

> You can read more about Nyssa (my Inquisition companion OC) at http://chaoticgaydisaster.tumblr.com/tagged/nyssa
> 
> Please be advised this chapter contains mild, non-specific mentions of trauma, misogyny, homophobia and alcoholism.

Skyhold never really quietened, not even in the earliest hours of the morning. Outside the guards patrolled the battlements on Commander Cullen’s orders, bows at the ready. Merchants checked wares and soldiers dragged themselves out of the barracks for pre-dawn practice drills.

Inside the smell of baking bread filled every room, and Nyssa could smell it as she padded through the dark halls. It seemed her stomach was wide awake--if only the rest of her was as fortunate. At this rate she would have to resort to herbs to force her tired body to rest, and while it wasn’t an ideal situation, the Inquisitor needed her to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Solas was at his desk when she walked by, poring over a large, dusty-looking book. Nyssa paused at the foot of the stairs, and for a moment considered asking if he had a spare sleeping tonic. No doubt he would ask why, and then she would have to explain why her mind had been racing until the early hours of the morning, and what still kept her up when all attempts to sleep had failed. She could almost hear the note of condescension in his voice, asking her what could keep a _young elven mage_ from restful sleep, and _that_ was a conversation she was not prepared to have. Not with him, anyway.

 

The library had a pleasing aesthetic in the middle of the day, but at night she could only call it creepy. The open balcony and confusing shadows made it potentially dangerous to stumble around in the darkness.

Nyssa began to conjure an arcane light, thought better of it, then grabbed a candlestick sitting on a nearby table. It sparked to life at her touch, throwing warm light across the bookshelves next to her.

“Arancia,” she said under her breath as she squinted at the books. “Artham...Baburra...Barca...Flamel--what is _th_ _at_ doing here?”

“You’re up late. Or is it early?”

Nyssa dropped the candlestick with a clunk and cursed quietly as it rolled across the floor. A well-polished boot stopped it, and an arcane light appeared, glowing soft blue. Dorian stepped out of the darkness, smirking.

“Did I startle you?” he asked, with a barely concealed crack of laughter in his voice.

“Give me back my candlestick, please.”

“Unless you want to set all these marvelous books on fire, I suggest an arcane light.”

Dorian waved his hand and the conjured light hovered higher, throwing the bookshelves into focus.

“You’re welcome,” he added, when she said nothing in response. He produced a flask from inside his coat, unscrewed it and took a swig. Nyssa caught the sharp smell of alcohol and her heart began to pound.

She turned back to the shelf and tried to concentrate on the books, hoping he would go and nurse his flask elsewhere.

“Can I help you?” she said, after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“I don’t know. Can you?”

Annoyance overrode her instinct for self-preservation. Nyssa turned, arms folded, and regarded him with a withering look.

“If you need me for something, just say it,” she snapped.”I’m busy.”

Dorian lifted himself away from the table and slinked over to the bookshelf; a desired effect somewhat ruined by the slight waver in his gait. Nyssa tensed, but he stopped a few feet from her, leaning on the shelf with one shoulder.

 _Ignore him and he’ll go away._ Brilliant idea, she thought. She knew men never could take a hint.

“You’re quite the puzzle, you know.”

Nyssa turned back to the shelves and tried to hide the tremble of her fingers. “Mmm.”

“A mage, a healer, a scholar, a scribe...” He counted on his fingers, peering at her over his stiff collar. “So many things for one to be at once.”

“Would you rather I was a drunkard with father issues?”

She regretted the barb the instant it fell from her mouth, and it was all she could do not to cringe in anticipation of the reaction--

Dorian went still; an impressive feat for a man so imbibed.

“Well, _that_ was unnecessary,” he said into the silence.

“Look,” Nyssa said, and turned to face him. Dorian eyed her warily; he didn’t look angry, and for that she was grateful...but the retort had wiped the mocking smile off his face. “Everyone knows what happened between you and your father, Dorian.”

“Oh?” he snapped. “Wonderful! Privacy is a luxury at Skyhold, I take it.”

“People gossip. That’s what happens.” Nyssa fixed him with a look. “You’re a grown man, and you’re well past the age where you can drink so heavily without consequence. And--” he began to retort, but she held up a finger. “Do not interrupt me, I’m not finished. I do not have the time or patience to indulge your drunkenness. Understand?”

“I understand,” he replied through gritted teeth. Then he looked puzzled. “Incidentally, why _are_ you here?”

“I need a recipe for a sleeping tonic.” Nyssa turned back to the bookshelf, squinting. “Ah! Gravire. Here it is.” She pulled out a thick, faded leather book.

Dorian’s moustache quirked. “You don’t need a potion to get to sleep. Just ask Solas for pointers.”

Nyssa laughed quietly and tucked the book under her arm.

“Dorian,” she said, as he turned away.  
“Yes?”

“I think I know the reason for your father--” She paused apologetically at the flash of fear on his face, and tried to gather her thoughts. “I mean, I know what Tevinter is like. I also know how to recognise when someone prefers the company of the same gender.”

Dorian said nothing.

This was dangerous talk to be had with a drunken man--a human, no less--who was little more than a stranger. Past experiences had taught her she should be afraid...and yet, she only felt sorry for him.

“This isn’t Tevinter.”

“I know,” Dorian said. He raised the flask and took another swig.

“Destroying your body with drink is not healthy, either.”

He winked. “No, but it’s more fun.”

“Uh-huh,” Nyssa said, and called his arcane light down to her. She hugged the book to her chest and walked past, muscles tensing--but he let her pass without issue. “Goodnight, Dorian.”

“Leaving so soon?” Dorian said. The lightness was back in his tone already, she heard, as if their argument never transpired. “I thought we could--braid each other’s hair. Talk about our childhoods!”

“Good _night_ , Dorian.”


	2. II. Prelude To an Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those moments where you receive an apology but you still feel like you have to justify being mad? Yeah

“Excuse me?” Nyssa said.

Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra all exchanged glances with each other, as if they had correctly predicted her reaction.

“We would not ask you if there were anyone else more suited,” Josephine said, her voice carefully measured. “Our investigation would be smoother if our inquiries were made by mages.”

“And who said this?”

“I did,” said a voice from the doorway, and Dorian strode in.

It had only been a few hours since their argument in the library. He had to be sporting an impressive headache, yet he walked in with practiced ease, turned on his heel and came to a smooth stop. Not a hair out of place; even his moustache was perfectly curled. She didn’t know whether to envy his composure or be concerned at how much his body might be used to an excess of alcohol.

Dorian flashed her a wink. Nyssa ignored him.

“So let me understand,” she said, and turned back to the others. “You want Dorian and I to...travel to the Tevinter Imperium and research its use on the Rite of Tranquility.”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “We realise the danger this may put you--”

“With respect, Nightingale, you don’t.”

The woman’s composure never wavered. “Fair enough. Yet I ask you to do this for the benefit of mages everywhere.”

Nyssa gave an exasperated sigh, though she had no real argument to make. The Inquisitor and half the inner circle were out at the Hissing Wastes battling Venatori, and the other half were with the Chargers. There was only Sera, Dorian and she left in Skyhold, and...well, it was unlikely they’d bothered even to ask Sera.

“May I ask why we are looking into the Rite, specifically?” she asked.

Cassandra shifted her weight, an unusually nervous gesture for a woman so well-trained in combat.

“You recall I went to Ferelden to investigate the Seekers’ disappearance,” she said, and Nyssa nodded. “As it turned out, Lord Seeker Lucius sold the Order to an ancient cult. I was forced to kill him, and he had on his person a book containing the secrets of our order.”

“And what does that have to do with…”

“I am getting to that,” Cassandra said, with a hint of impatience. “This book held details of the vigil, our initiation rite. Months spent in prayer, fasting, purging oneself of all emotion...”

Nyssa knew where this was going, but she said nothing. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“An initiate is made Tranquil through this rite. And a spirit is summoned to make contact with the initiate’s mind, thus granting the abilities we are known for. It is a ritual I went through, not knowing how this was done…”

Cassandra trailed off, looking her up and down somewhat cautiously, as if she would explode in rage from the revelation. When no reaction came, she frowned. “You do not seem surprised.”

“Surprised, not entirely,” Nyssa replied tightly. “Angry, oh, yes.”

“I do not blame you for it. But you must see this is something we must know more about.”

“Enough,” Leliana said, when Nyssa began to speak. “Will you agree to this or not?”

“I will do it,” Nyssa said, then she turned on her heel and left the room.

 

Dorian caught up with her only seconds after she let the heavy door shut behind her.

“What was that all about?” he asked, then he saw her face. “Ah. I suspected you were angrier than you let on.”

“Why shouldn’t I be angry?” she shot back. “Did you not hear what she said?”

“I heard,” Dorian said. “Are we going to have a problem, you and I?”

The question shouldn’t have caught her by surprise, but it did.

Nyssa considered. She hadn’t been  _ truly _ angry with him after their encounter in the library. Annoyed, yes, and in some ways fearful. He hadn’t meant to intimidate her, and she knew for sure he wasn’t making an advance.

“No,” she replied truthfully. “Just do me a favour and don’t sneak up on me in the dead of night again.”

“My dear, I do not sneak,” Dorian said haughtily, though she caught the smile tugging at his moustache. “I am Tevinter, after all.”

“You can strut, then. Just do it with some noise.”

Dorian looked as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t quite know how to begin. When Nyssa turned and began to walk back down the corridor, he said loudly, “Wait!”

She turned, raising her eyebrows, and he added, “I want to apologize for last night.”

“You do?”

“You needn’t look so surprised,” Dorian replied, with a hint of wry amusement. “Even I’m known to regret my decisions from time to time, and last night…”

“Dorian…”

“No, let me finish. Last night was unworthy behaviour, and I’m sorry. There will be nothing of the sort happening while we travel together.” After a pause he added, “You have my word.”

Nyssa felt awkward all of a sudden; unsure how to respond. A sincere apology was not something she heard often.

“Thank you,” she said eventually, into the silence.

“Well,” Dorian said somewhat cheerfully. “Awkward moment aside, I must return to the war room. Sister Nightingale wants to grill me on Tevinter protocol for something or other. How the Inquisitor can stand all these long meetings, I will never know.”

He turned and walked back to the war room, his boots clicking neatly on the stone floor. The door creaked open, then shut, then there was silence. 

Nyssa crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, staring after him thoughtfully.

“This will be interesting,” she said to no-one in particular.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like enough is mentioned about Dorian's drinking habits in both DAI itself and the World of Thedas (Vol II, I believe) to call it alcoholism, and I'd like to impress upon you that alcoholism is not at all a joke. Although this drabble has a brief few allusions of some humour to it ( given Dorian's tendency to fall back on sarcasm and jokes when he feels vulnerable), it's not at all humorous, for a woman especially, to be confronted with a drunken man in the middle of the night in a deserted library. Nor is it humorous for Dorian to carry alcohol upon his person, or to sit in a deserted library in the middle of the night drinking excessively. This is a situation that will be addressed in the next few ficlets, if you care to stick around.


End file.
